


Crossing Distance

by madin456



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Future Fic, Kissing, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, Volleyball Dorks in Love, reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:01:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madin456/pseuds/madin456
Summary: What happened between them was the result of thousands of kilometers between two airports in two different countries and the slow trickling of a relationship fading away with distance.Bokuto returns to Japan after studying abroad for three years. Akaashi is there waiting for him.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	Crossing Distance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosevtea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosevtea/gifts).



> me banging on the doors of the hq fandom: LET ME IN.
> 
> i’m two months late for your birthday but i hope i did your prompt justice, melly! thank you for showing me the potential of bokuaka.

The owl emoji in the text message Akaashi receives at four in the morning wakes him up with a loud _ping!_ from his phone and he curses quietly under his breath for forgetting to silence his notifications. Reaching over to his nightstand, he fumbles to unlock his phone in his barely-awake state and sees a text from someone he hasn’t spoken to in a long time.

_Sent 4:03 AM  
[Bokuto]: Guess who’s coming back to Japan next week! _

_Sent 4:03 AM  
[Bokuto]: 🦉🦉🦉_

In the darkness of his bedroom, eyes straining to read the message from the bright glow of his phone, Akaashi is suddenly brought back to memories of carefree high school days. He remembers his past with Fukurodani’s volleyball team fondly, from the coaches to the managers to the teammates. And at the time, Bokuto was—a friend. More-than-friend. Something they didn’t label.

It hadn’t mattered what they called their relationship because Bokuto was moving away to _France_.

He reads the message again, the owl emojis drawing in his attention the most. Bokuto had once stuck a picture of two owls right in his face, far too close for Akaashi’s eyes to actually focus on the image, and declared, _They look just like us!_ He had spoken using a tone that was similar in fashion to his triumphant cries when he scored a point against a strong opponent on the volleyball court: with pride. After that, Bokuto made sure to use as many owl emojis as he could, sprinkling them between texts even when it didn’t make sense.

This same owl symbol tells Akaashi now that despite the years that have passed since high school, despite going to separate universities, despite losing contact, Bokuto has not changed. In the most fundamental ways, in all the ways that truly matter, Bokuto has not changed.

It’s a small, comforting thought. Akaashi sets his phone down on the nightstand and goes back to sleep feeling like he has rediscovered something that was never actually lost.

_Sent 4:32 AM  
[Akaashi]: Stop texting me in the middle of the night, Bokuto-san. _

_Sent 4:33 AM  
[Akaashi]: See you next week._

.

On his very first day at Fukurodani Academy, Akaashi gets stopped by a flyer shoved directly into his nose. He supposes part of the blame falls on himself for choosing to walk down the path toward the school entrance filled with booths of various clubs advertising themselves to the new first year students, but still, he thinks darkly, there has to be a more organized way of going about this.

The upperclassman who blocks his path is tall and confident; it’s clear that he stands out, even in this large crowd of students. “You look like an athlete!” he declares loudly. Akaashi blinks and takes a cautious step back. He does not look like an athlete. “Please consider joining the volleyball club! You won’t regret it!”

He accepts the flyer somewhat reluctantly, taking a moment to scan the page. It has a fairly simple design, with minimal text and an image of Fukurodani’s mascot, the owl, flying over a volleyball net.

“Okay,” Akaashi says. He slides the paper into his bag and the upperclassman looks stunned before the biggest smile spreads across his face. Cheers can be heard from behind him even as Akaashi walks away.

This is how he meets Bokuto.

After school, he stops by the gym to check out the club as promised. The regular members are already warming up and Akaashi stands at the sidelines, beside another group of interested first years, watching them hit the ball one by one. Bokuto, he recognizes immediately, stands out even more on the court than he did at the booth that morning. In his gym uniform with the number 4 displayed proudly on his back, he looks something like a star as he runs up toward the net.

By the third week, most of the other first years have stopped showing up, but Akaashi dutifully attends every practice session and every meeting. He knows the basic foundations of volleyball from what he’s learned in middle school but he has never played competitively before; even so, they let him join their warm-ups and practices and he gets his own uniform despite not being registered as an official member of the club yet.

Later, they get called to gather around in a circle and the coach holds up a list of spikers from all across Japan. Among big names like Kiyoomi Sakusa from Itachiyama, Wakatsu Kiryuu from Mujinazaka, and Wakatoshi Ushijima from Shiatorizawa, Bokuto’s name is there at fourth place.

Their coach slaps Bokuto on the back affectionately. “Congratulations! You’re ranked as one of the top five spikers in the country!”

_Cool,_ Akaashi thinks to himself. Aloud, he says, “Doesn’t that just mean he didn’t make it to the top three?”

Bokuto gasps dramatically, clenching a hand over his heart as if being struck by an arrow. Behind him, coach cackles and tells Bokuto that Akaashi is right, there’s always room for improvement. Practice resumes and when Akaashi picks up a volleyball this time, he believes that out of everyone here, Bokuto is the one who has a real chance at becoming the best spiker in all of Japan. When that happens, he thinks he’d like to be there to see it.

The next day, he hands in his club registration form and officially joins the team.

.

_Sent 10:15 AM  
[Bokuto]: My flight lands today at 6pm! Come pick me up?_

Akaashi receives the message just as he’s finishing up his breakfast. Since last week, when Bokuto had informed him that he’d be coming home, they started texting more—more than they did since they last saw each other in high school.

Picking up his phone, Akaashi sighs. He could never say no to Bokuto, and that hasn’t changed even after three years of minimal contact. It must mean something, though, that he’s the first person Bokuto wants to see once he returns to Japan. Akaashi tries his best not to think too hard about it.

_Sent 10:27 AM  
[Akaashi]: I’ll be there._

He spends the rest of the day cooking, cleaning, anything to keep himself busy. Even while doing all these tasks, his thoughts somehow still manage to circle back to their approaching reunion. How different will Bokuto look now, he wonders? What will be the first words they exchange? Can they pick up the flow of natural conversation despite the distance that has grown between them?

Akaashi never thought that he and Bokuto would have trouble communicating but after three years—who knows?

He’s in the middle of wiping the kitchen counters when he glances at the clock and realizes that he needs to leave. Quickly, he throws the dirty towel in the trash and rushes out the door; the room still isn’t fully clean yet, but the rest will just have to wait until he gets back.

Traffic in Tokyo is as bad as ever, and he taps his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently whenever he gets stopped at a red light. There’s a moment when he’s stuck in the same spot for all of five minutes, no vehicles moving on either side of the road, and it’s almost ridiculous how he has to suppress the urge to abandon his car and make the rest of the journey on foot. The drive ends up being twenty minutes longer than expected before Akaashi finally manages to turn into the airport parking lot, arriving at his destination.

Making his way through the entrance, he walks up to one of the screens displaying a list of flight schedules. The next plane coming from France is due at six o’clock just like Bokuto had told him, thankfully with no delays, so Akaashi heads over to the waiting area outside of the appropriate gate. For a moment, nervousness courses through his entire body at the thought of being mere minutes— _seconds_ —away from seeing his high school friend again.

It’s been three years. A lot can change in three years. But then he inhales and reminds himself that he’s here for _Bokuto_.

They’re going to be fine. They always have been.

“Over here!” Akaashi hears Bokuto before he sees him, emerging from the exit gate among a crowd of other passengers and waving frantically from across the hallway. He breaks into a run in his direction, dragging his luggage along with one hand, and Akaashi feels himself smiling as he waves back.

When they meet, Akaashi is prepared to relearn about various aspects of Bokuto that has changed throughout their years apart, and in many ways, there are a lot of differences: how he lost the white streaks in his hair over time, how he’s gained a few centimeters in height, how he’s matured and grown during his time studying abroad.

But in many more ways, in his core, his heart, he is still very much the same: how his excitement is entirely too contagious, how he walks with a spring in every step, how he stares and stares and stares at something he wants until he gets it.

How he says Akaashi’s name when they are only a few inches apart.

“Akaashi.”

“Yes?”

“Can I hug you?”

Akaashi swallows and looks up to meet Bokuto’s eyes. The expression Bokuto gives him is serious, resolute, as if he had stepped off the plane determined to get a hug from Akaashi at all costs. It makes his heart flutter and he nods because he has also been anticipating this moment since he first heard that Bokuto would be coming back.

He sees a split second of pure _joy_ on Bokuto’s face before familiar arms wrap around him. Akaashi tenses up in the beginning, then gradually allows himself to relax, raising his own arms so that he can hold onto Bokuto as well. He rests his head on Bokuto’s shoulder and sighs; his entire body feels warm. After three long years, Bokuto still feels like—home.

Eventually, though perhaps not soon enough, it is Akaashi who says it first:

“I missed you,” he murmurs quietly into the crook of Bokuto’s neck. It’s true, and honest, and a relief, more than anything, to finally say the words aloud.

“I missed you, too!” Bokuto responds vibrantly, daring the entire airport to overhear their conversation. _Wanting_ everyone to hear how much he has yearned to see his friend again as he hugs Akaashi with three years worth of devotion. In that moment, no one else in the world matters; they are here, together, the distance between them shrinking with each second that passes.

Akaashi lets himself soak in the warmth of being close to Bokuto for a while longer before pulling away and leading the two of them out the airport to where he parked his car. With Bokuto officially back in Japan, they can finally head home.

.

When Bokuto graduates, everyone expects Akaashi to become the next captain. And he does. But he’s also well aware of the differences between his leadership style and Bokuto’s. He’s not as energetic, not as motivating, and it’s been a few weeks already but the new first years still lack teamwork. Quite frankly, they look sloppy on the court and no amount of sharp game sense can make up for their poor coordination.

Today, they’re playing short matches in teams of three—third years verses first years. It’s not so much about winning as it is about letting Akaashi and their coach observe how the new team members play together. They’re going through sets far too quickly, unable to keep up a decent rally, and each time the ball drops to the floor, Akaashi’s frown deepens.

The first years are frustrated too, that much is obvious. But they’re only thinking about the score, earning points, and they aren’t watching each other or paying attention to the others on the court. Akaashi isn’t sure if that’s something he can teach them: the importance of being more aware of their teammates than they are of themselves.

From the side, Onaga leaves his position as middle blocker to walk over and slap him on the back, hard enough to pull him out of his trance and leave behind a throbbing pain where his hand had made contact. Akaashi turns to glare at him.

“Don’t look at me like that; it’s what Bokuto would’ve done,” Onaga says without an ounce of remorse, before Akaashi has the chance to mutter a well-constructed threat at him. “And he would say that the team has come a long way since you took over as captain. The new first years look up to you so stop overthinking everything.”

Akaashi blinks. Had his concerns been that obvious on his face? Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to listen to the advice. Onaga is right, he knows deep down. He shouldn’t be so focused on filling the gap Bokuto left behind; rather, he needs to use his own strengths to help everyone reach their full potential. Fukurodani is _his_ team now.

“One more set!” Akaashi calls out to the gym. His voice is stern. His head is clear.

He’s going to create a team that would make Bokuto proud.

.

The school’s gym doors slide open easily on a Saturday afternoon, clear skies and bright rays of sunlight high above. Akaashi almost feels like he’s invading now that he’s not a high school student anymore but even after all this time, he still has his copy of the key from when he was captain. At the very least, this is an abuse of his power, but Fukurodani’s gym is the closest to his house and the public gyms are always so busy and loud and he figured no one would mind him bringing someone over because it’s _Bokuto_.

“Wow, coach lent you a key to the gym!” Bokuto exclaims, eyes wide as they walk into the room. “How come he never gave me one when I was captain?”

“That’s because you’re not responsible,” Akaashi quips back without missing a beat. He tucks the key into his bag for safekeeping before dropping his things on one of the benches against the wall.

It’s a weekend so they’re alone, but it’s far from the first time the two of them have done something like this. They used to come into practice at odd times to squeeze in as much training as they could before a big match, often putting in hours that they should have spent sleeping instead. Now that the gym technically isn’t _theirs_ anymore, everything about this feels nostalgic.

“I haven’t been here in so long!” Bokuto’s shout echoes all around the gym and he heads straight to the storage room to bring out the net and the cart of volleyballs. “How about some tosses? Just like old times?”

“Sure,” Akaashi says. If Bokuto notices the slight hesitation in his tone, he doesn’t say anything about it.

Three years ago, Akaashi had given up sports to focus on his university classes. These days, the feeling of a volleyball in his hands is foreign, but somehow, his body still remembers. When he steps back to his position at the center of the court, it’s like he’s been reset, like he’s found a lost love. It’s hard to believe that he let himself fall out of practice.

“Ready?” he calls out to Bokuto, who nods eagerly. Throwing the ball up in the air vertically, Akaashi tilts his head back, watching as gravity reclaims the ball through the triangle he makes with his fingers. He bends his knees, eyes flickering to where Bokuto stands for a split second to calculate the distance between them before making contact with the ball.

By the time Akaashi lowers his hands again, Bokuto is already running toward the net, shoes squeaking against the gym floor, and preparing to jump. He brings one elbow back, the other arm extended, form precise and controlled. His hand cuts through the air like a blade, like the wings of a bird made to fly, and connects with his target at the highest point of trajectory.

The volleyball hits the ground with a resounding _thud_.

“Yeah!” Bokuto screams. He’s smiling so wide it seems like his face might split open and his entire body is _glowing_. “Did you see that, Akaashi? Did you see my killer spike?”

It’s a silly question, Akaashi thinks to himself. He is always watching Bokuto, and the fact that they’re not in high school anymore doesn’t change anything.

“I saw,” he says, polite. Respectful. Proud, more than anything.

They do a few more spikes, some serves, some rallys, and it doesn’t take them any time at all to get into the momentum of their duo plays from back when they both represented Fukurodani, with Akaashi being the setter and Bokuto being the ace. He still remembers how close to the net Bokuto liked his tosses to be and the way they come together is mostly instinctive—proof of all the hours they spent practicing in this very gym. There’s no denying that they know each other well, in a way only teammates do.

“How was your volleyball club in France?” Akaashi asks in between tosses. He wishes he could see Bokuto playing on a university-level team, in tournaments much more grand than their high school ones.

“It was great! Everyone is really talented and I definitely learned a lot.” Bokuto breaks into a run and hits the ball in midair hard, the resonating sound of it landing on the other side of the court echoing all around them. He turns to Akaashi with a grin. “But your tosses are always the best.”

And Akaashi’s first instinct is to deny it—he’s three years out of practice, after all—but he reminds himself that Bokuto isn’t like him. Bokuto doesn’t filter his thoughts or craft his sentences carefully and he definitely doesn’t lie about what he feels on the volleyball court. It’s best to take his words at face-value because he says what he means and Akaashi has always admired that trait in him.

So Akaashi smiles and says, “Let’s see how much better you’ve gotten, then.” He grabs a new ball from the sidelines and spins it in his hands.

Bokuto cheers, throwing both arms up in the air. The look in his eyes has changed, more focused and intense than before, similar to that of a bird of prey’s. “Bring it on!”

.

What happened between them was the result of thousands of kilometers between two airports in two different countries and the slow trickling of a relationship fading away with distance. With Akaashi in Japan and Bokuto in France, there was an eight-hour time difference to consider every time they text or call.

The first year was when they communicated the most, updating each other on their lives apart every week or so. There had been frequent phone calls at too early in the morning or too late at night, until school got busy for both of them and it was harder and harder to make time for someone who was living in an entirely different continent.

Being a total of nine thousand eight hundred kilometers away, Bokuto was practically in another world. By the time second year came around, the extent of their interactions involved liking each other’s social media posts and occasionally leaving a comment. It had been strange to learn about all the important events in Bokuto’s life through impersonal posts online but not an uncommon experience upon comparing it to any of his old friends.

Akaashi knows a lot of people from high school that he doesn’t keep in contact with anymore, classmates he used to talk to every day and had considered a close friend throughout those years. The distance that grew between them is no one’s fault but it’s obvious that their time together has passed and ended. When it comes to Bokuto, though, it isn’t the same, not really. They’ve never had to ask the question of whether they’ll meet again and catch up, but rather _when_ their next meeting will take place.

And if Akaashi stops to think about it, maybe that just proves they will always be there for each other, despite any major changes in their lives. That their relationship has always been strong enough to withstand the test of time.

.

Their current position is a familiar one: Akaashi sitting on the floor by his bed and Bokuto sitting behind him with his head resting on Akaashi’s shoulder.

They’re scrolling through a photo album on Bokuto’s phone titled _For Akaashi!!_ from his time abroad of pictures he’s saved and wanted to share since moving to France. It’s surreal to see Bokuto in all the popular tourist locations that Akaashi’s only seen in textbooks or pamphlets, as well as the lesser-known places that are exclusive to the locals. There are numerous photos of new friends, classmates, teachers, and even more of volleyball practices and tournaments. Bokuto’s life after high school is an exact reflection of himself: lively and joyful and vibrant.

“It looks like you had fun.” Akaashi comments as he goes through each photo one by one.

“I did!” Bokuto says. “I wish you had been there with me. You would’ve gotten along with our libero for sure; maybe I can introduce you sometime!”

“That would be nice.” Akaashi smiles. He scrolls through three years’ worth of photos and stops when he eventually reaches their old high school pictures. There’s a group shot of their team at Fukurodani—the last one they took together before all the third years graduated. “Are you going to visit any of the others?” he asks, referring to their old teammates.

“Hmm, yeah! Maybe next week, though.” Bokuto shifts in his spot to divert his attention from the screen to Akaashi. “I wanted to spend some time with you first.”

Akaashi feels heat rush to his cheeks and turns his head back to look at Bokuto. They’re really close, he realizes just now, and he had almost forgotten that Bokuto’s eyes are _golden_. Beautiful. He seems to be searching Akaashi’s face for something—permission or signs of reciprocal feelings, perhaps—and when they lean in, finally, _finally_ , it’s easy and natural. A long time coming.

It’s not their first kiss; their first kiss had been back in high school, the day of Bokuto’s graduation when neither of them knew exactly how to label their relationship. It was impulsive and spur-of-the-moment and Bokuto was moving away to study abroad for university so they didn’t want to make anything official. Well, _Akaashi_ didn’t want to make anything official. But they had kissed desperately surrounded by falling cherry blossom petals, as if that was going to be the last time they saw each other. And it was, at least for a while.

Now, in Akaashi’s bedroom three years later, they aren’t having their first kiss, but it still feels _new_. He tilts his head back and Bokuto meets him halfway, eyes fluttering shut to give himself fully to the sensation. Neither of them are as awkward as they were in high school—they’ve both kissed other people since then—but it’s never felt like this _._ Like the final pieces of a puzzle falling into place. Bokuto’s lips on his is relief, reassurance, their way of saying: _I’ve been waiting for you. Thank god you still feel the same way._

Pulling apart for air, Bokuto’s grin rivals the sun and Akaashi’s entire face is warm. The laughter they share afterwards is quiet, secretive, and what they try to convey to each other is obvious: _how could I ever love anyone else when I have you?_

Akaashi feels comfortable and calm for the first time in three years.

.

_Sent 4:52 AM  
[Bokuto]: I love you, Akaashi! _

_Sent 4:55 AM  
[Akaashi]: Did you have to text me in the middle of the night just for that? _

_Sent 4:56 AM  
[Bokuto]: Yes! It’s important!_

_Sent 5:01 AM  
[Akaashi]: I love you too. Idiot._

**Author's Note:**

> my one regret with this story is not adding in parts of bokuto saying random french words he picked up during his study abroad.
> 
> scream at me on tumblr or twitter @chaasiu.


End file.
